Monday, 27 April 2015

I cannot help but love the way you run,
Knowing that you're growing weak and needs must.
You change your tune declaring that your done,
There'll be no more cross hatching, sucking dust.
No more negotiating wooden legs,
No more turning round in awkward places,
No more eating up the ash or spilt dregs
Of cocoa dried on carpet, no traces
Of the dog which have not been already
Rolled upon, will be visited again.
It's time to recharge, so you keep a steady
Course across the floor, almost trotting, then
Reverse your curved black arse, slowly nudging,
Back to base, tired from your day of drudging.

Saturday, 25 April 2015

Our aging population has a need;
Through immigration then we must expand.
Because we cannot satiate our greed
We must employ more people on the land.
We know that none born here will bear a hand
In picking produce or in planting seed.
Yet really you should try to understand:
Our aging population has a need.
And so too does our youthful one, indeed
Its needs are greater still, so they demand
Support, their sort can't bend to pick a weed;
Through immigration then we must expand.
We have to grow and so we must command
Our former slaves to come and work again, succeed
In building our economy. Our visions must be grand,
Because we cannot satiate our greed.
We cannot stop to think but only plead
Our case in terms of kindness and make sure to reprimand
Those ignoramuses who pay no heed.
We must employ more people on the land
And in our factories and hospitals and take a stand
Of righteousness, yet not profess we're willing to proceed
In stealing from the poor in every war torn land
The very source of their own future wealth, in order to feed
Our aging population.

Tuesday, 21 April 2015

Fasciation fascination,
An odd obsession
With the doubling and duplication
Of stems and stalks.
This fixation, might lead to frustration
For one's long suffering Alsation
On country walks,
For a visual demonstration
Of the concept of conflation
Is not a thing a dog has any inclination
To comprehend. And the natural limitation
Of the intelligence of the breed,
Though it is greater than that of any Dalmation,
Means it can't understand your lengthy explanation,
As you bend, to pick a weed,
And has no interest in your little talks.

Monday, 13 April 2015

The sloe white, snow white blossom
At the bottom, in the distance through a gap
In the Acer, growing greener with the rising of the sap
Is in contrast with the vulgar brightness
Of Pierris 'Forest Flame'
Which is gaudy, crude and hideous and hasn't any shame.

Monday, 6 April 2015

I'm the king of the castle, my dirty rascal friend,
I shan't require you to leave, nor even recommend
You take a bath. I don't require you to change,
I love to pity and indulge you. I will rearrange
The state's affairs in order to allow you
To carry on just as you are,
For you are just a speck of dust
And I'm the brightest star.

Let me do as I'd be done by,
I shan't cast the first stone,
Let me show your immorality
Isn't yours alone:
It belongs to those who'd judge you,
To those who do not see
That chastising, urging caution
Is deleterious to me.
For you are just a speck of dust
And I'm the brightest star
My beams more radiant in proportion
To the shitty thing you are.

Saturday, 4 April 2015

A man who sounds quite dull like 'Henry's Cat'
Presents a talk on continental drift
He speaks of folds and napes and things like that
Though sadly, I don't always understand. He speaks of rift,
Valleys between plates and oceans; I see swathes of thrift
On cliff tops where the ground is flat,
And crowds of screaming gulls, a shrieking swift.

A man who sounds quite dull like 'Henry's Cat'.
Speaks of things volcanic, has the names off pat
Of different sorts; I lack the gift
Or knack to hold them in my mind. A boring prat
Presents a talk on 'Continental drift'
Designed to hypnotize and lift
Imagination where it flies, in lava bursts of brilliance (éclat?)
I feel the ground shift.
He speaks of folds and napes and things like that.
I see the fabric of the earth become a plait
First regular and then gone quite adrift.
More explanations follow, and the children chat
Though sadly I don't always understand. He speaks of rift:
I think of lives falling apart but give short shrift
To those who feel pity for themselves and swat
Away this turn of thought for I must sift
Out nonsense, yet I'm nodding off: a man talks through his hat,
A man who sounds quite dull.